Dear Reader, Sorry it's been so long! This was a hard chapter to write, because a lot of folks said they really wanted to see the aftermath of Umbara, and there's a lot to fit in. There will still be more "fall-out" in the next chapter, because I want to wrap up as many Umbaran storylines as possible (all the Saber Squad interactions, Dogma/Tup, Rex/Cody, Rex/Anakin, Rex/Fives, on and on and on). This chapter is mainly Saber Squad. I want to thank my reviewers of the last chapter, Darth Pancake, Sued 13 and the Guest. And as Darth Pancake pointed out, yes, I've been pretty tough on Fives - and it's going to get worse before it gets better. But it does get better, just not quite yet! So, don't despair as you're reading. And please, if you have the time, drop a review. It helps keep me motivated. Peace, CS
Chapter 107 Deep Wounds
"A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes,
as if to hide a lonely tear.
My life will be forever autumn,
cause you're not here."
Forever Autumn
Jeff Wayne and Justin Hayward
It was not the sort of reunion either man had anticipated – or desired.
Still, the moment was upon them.
Top was stunned, distressed at seeing Jesse looking so worn and defeated. He'd heard of the 501st's travails – only fleetingly but enough to know that his former battalion had certainly borne the worst of the attack, exacerbated by the utter horror of General Krell's betrayal. He'd been prepared to face a battle-hardened and bitter remnant of the mighty fighting machine that had been the 501st.
But what he saw in the face and posture of his squad mate made his heart ache. He had never had the same manner of tenderness with Jesse that he had with Kix, Pitch and Hardcase. His relationship with Jesse had always thrived on their shared drive for victory and tough-as-nails attitudes when it came to getting the job done. And where they differed – mostly in demeanor – the combination of personalities had strengthened their bond as opposed to weakening it.
Top crossed the room and, without hesitation, wrapped his arm around Jesse's neck in a heart-felt embrace. "Thank all the powers that be, you're alright."
The instant he'd heard Top's voice and looked up to see him standing in the doorway, Jesse had felt, not joy or even relief, but anger and resentment. He had no idea why. There was no reason for him to feel that way. And he'd been fully prepared to maintain his antipathy – until Top's gesture disarmed him, melting away every breath of distance between them.
He returned the hug with his own awkward embrace. The unwieldiness of the armor made such displays of emotion difficult and infrequent; but neither man cared about grace and finesse at the moment.
After a few seconds, Jesse drew back. "What are you doing here?"
"The 808th sent a company to aid the 212th in pursuing the Umbarans from the capital," Top replied. "Commander Ki'weya tasked me to come down to check on them." A pause. "I think he knew I was desperate to find out what had happened with the 501st, as well. We heard about the bad time you guys were having. And . . . we heard about General Krell."
Jesse sighed and sat on the edge of the desk. "It was the worst combat experience I've ever had. Our numbers have been decimated."
"How's the captain taking it?" Top inquired.
"I'm not really sure," Jesse replied. "I haven't seen him much since the fighting ended. I take it you haven't talked to him yet?
"No," Top replied. "I went first to find my lieutenant who was in charge of the company I sent. Once I got my report from him, my only thought was to find my squad mates."
Jesse drew in a long, deep breath, corralling his strength and composure. "Top . . . I have bad news." He went on before Top could inquire. "Hardcase is dead, and Pitch is missing in action."
It was an odd moment. A moment neither of them had ever truly considered or imagined. Perhaps it was not incredible that they had never envisioned this scene, the relaying of the death of one of their squad mates, or the uncertainty of another's status. Jesse and Top had always stayed in the moment. The past had its place as teacher and the gallery of memories. The future was never guaranteed. It could only be planned for. And now, here these two men stood, face-to-face, living out a scenario that felt as foreign as the alien planet they had just conquered.
For Jesse, relaying the news was nightmarish. Blurting out the announcement had taken an act of courage on his part, for he knew what the news would do to Top, a man whose exaggerated emotional displays were truly a genuine reflection of his deepest feelings. Unlike the captain, whom everyone knew, was a master at disguising those feelings he considered weaknesses, Top let fly with every emotion without embarrassment, sometimes to his advantage, other times to his detriment.
Jesse watched and anticipated Top's reaction.
But if he'd been expecting the usual histrionics, this time there were none.
At length, Top asked quietly, "What happened?"
"Pitch was injured. The rest of the battalion moved forward while he and the rest of the wounded were left with a field medic to be evacuated to the rear. That was on . . . day two, I think. I'm not sure anymore. But somehow in the battle and hours that followed, he went missing – along with all the rest in that group. There was—the fighting was terrible that day, and I . . . I fear the worst. Patrols have gone out looking for missing and injured men, and none of them have been found." He averted his gaze for a moment. He'd never known how painful it could be to deliver bad news. He knew now.
Top gave him the gentle encouragement to go on. "Hardcase?"
"He died . . . just like you'd expect him to. In a blaze of glory," Jesse replied. "You heard about the supply ship being blown up . . . "
Top looked incredulous. "Are you going to tell me he did that? Hardcase did that?"
"Yes," Jesse replied. "He used one of the Umbaran fighters to attack the supply ship. He was going straight for the reactor core. He didn't come back."
A long silence ensued. At last, Top replied in a voice tightly controlled, "It's what we all would have expected from him. It's how he would have wanted to go out."
"If he hadn't done it, we would have lost a lot more lives across the whole planet. That ship was supplying all the enemy forces," Jesse added. "He sacrificed everything for us. We probably owe our victory to him."
Top sighed. "Doesn't make it any easier."
"No . . . it doesn't."
Top regarded him once more. "What about Kix?"
"He's okay . . . I mean, I guess," Jesse fumbled with his reply. "He had a hard time—a pretty bad time. But he seems okay now, and the last I saw him, he was in the med center."
"What do you mean, a bad time? What happened?" Top inquired.
"Just that . . . we—we were forced to leave a lot of wounded behind," Jesse replied. "That didn't sit well with Kix, as you can imagine."
"But that's no different than any other battle. We always have to leave wounded behind until it's safe to go get them—"
"Top, this was different from every other battle," Jesse interjected. "I don't know what it was like where the 808th was fighting, but it was pure hell here. With General Skywalker gone and Captain Rex not willing to . . . well, he had to do as Krell ordered, we didn't know which way to turn. From initial counts, it looks like we're down almost 60-70 percent in manpower. It was a bloodbath, plain and simple. And for Kix, being told to stand down . . . that did a number on him." He was quick to add, "But he seems to be okay now. Like I said, the last I heard, he was in the med center."
"I'll head over there now," Top said. "He, uh, he knows about Hardcase and Pitch?"
"He knows."
Top nodded. "I'll make sure I see you again before I head back to the 808th." He turned to leave, but looked back before going. "It's good to see you again – even under these circumstances. I've missed you, Jesse."
There was that sentimentality for which Top was well known, and it made Jesse feel somewhat ashamed. Ashamed for not telling him the entirety of the truth about Hardcase's death or the extent of Kix's descent into despondency and confusion. Still, the feeling of relief at seeing Top, following so quickly and strongly upon his initial sense of bitterness and anger, helped keep the shame from taking too strong a hold. After all, Top would find out the whole truth eventually – or he might go back to the 808th where his duties would soon run any desire for details out of his head. He would leave here knowing that Hardcase had died a hero and that Pitch was mostly likely dead as well. He would reconcile himself to those facts and not wonder how it was that Hardcase – of all clones – had wound up in an Umbaran fighter in the first place.
"We've all missed you, Top," came the honest reply. "More than you realize."
Dogma did not raise his eyes until the platform had stopped rotating. He had no interest in whatever prisoner they were bringing down to add to the incarcerated. In the several hours since he'd been returned to his cell, he'd seen them bring in hundreds of prisoners. But none of them were being kept on the same level with him, so the fact that the platform had stopped at his level drew his attention in a purely perfunctory manner.
Looking up, he saw Tup, accompanied by one of the troops detailed with guard duty, and a sense of overwhelming sadness pervaded his soul. He could only imagine what Tup must be thinking of him, and he could not get past the idea that he had let his squad mate down in every way that mattered.
Tup approached the shimmering cell door, which was lowered for him to enter the cell. As it reformed behind him, he said with manufactured cheerfulness, as if he knew how difficult this meeting was going to be, "I told you, if you didn't learn how to relax, you were going to find yourself in a bantha's pile—"
"—pile of osik. Yes, you told me. A hundred times," Dogma cut him off. He didn't want the reminder. "Is that why you came down here? To tell me that?" A brief pause as he realized his anger should have no object but himself. "I probably should have listened to you."
Tup lowered his voice. "I know what happened. Jesse told me. I don't think anyone else besides Fives and the captain know." A pause. "And I'm glad you didn't listen to me. You were the only one who had the courage to do what needed to be done."
Dogma shook his head. "It wasn't courage," he said softly. "It was rage. Rage and humiliation."
"Either way, you did what the rest of us couldn't bring ourselves to do," Tup insisted.
"I knew the Captain would never do it," Dogma said, sounding pained, "He's too good a man. I could see he didn't want to do it, he wasn't going to do it. I . . . I had to make sure Krell never had the chance to do to any other battalion what he did to ours."
"You don't have to explain it to me – or anyone else," Tup replied. "It . . . it was something we'd all talked about. That's why the captain was going to execute him."
"It doesn't matter anymore," Dogma frowned, shaking his head. "What's done is done."
"They can't keep you locked up," Tup insisted. "You were right to kill him after all the things he did to try and sabotage this battalion—"
"All that will be decided by a trial—"
"There doesn't need to be a trial!" Tup interrupted emphatically. "Justice was served when you pulled the trigger."
"I'm not sure the command will see it that way," came the dismal reply.
"The captain and General Skywalker won't let them convict you," Tup continued, refusing to give up to the possibility of his friend languishing in prison for killing a traitor. "They both carry a lot of weight, and they'll speak out on your behalf."
Dogma said nothing.
"You'd better not be giving up already," Tup warned. "You've always been a tough sebi. Don't get wishy-washy now."
This brought a faint smile to Dogma's face. "I'll try not to let you down."
"You'd damned well better not," Tup stressed. "Because I'll still be here when you get out. I'll be waiting. We'll serve side-by-side again."
Dogma was still smiling in a remote manner. "I hope so." He paused, then spoke with a sincerity Tup knew not to doubt. "You're my only friend, Tup. I've probably never . . . shown you how much I appreciated you being beside me."
"Hraka," Tup said dismissively. "I knew. You didn't have to say anything. I knew." A pause. "And for the record, and even though you'll never believe me, because you refuse to see it, there are plenty of brothers who admire you, who would be your friend, if you let them." He paused and smiled in a somewhat self-conscious manner. "But . . . to be honest, I'm glad it's always been just you and me. In an army of clones, it's nice to know that, to at least one person, I'm something other than just another copy." He took a step forward and put a hand on Dogma's shoulder. "That means something." A pause. "I have to go back up. I go on patrol soon. But I'll be back."
Dogma nodded. "I'll be here. I'm glad you came down. Seeing you . . . was a good thing for me."
"Major Hypes."
The major turned and raised his brows in surprise. "Top. I wasn't expecting to see you. I take it you're here to check on your men."
"Yes," Top replied. "And to see how the 501st is doing."
"We've got a number of your injured . . . and dead," Hypes said. "You can go out on the floor. You'll find your injured out there."
"Thanks, Major," Top said. "Have you seen Kix?"
"He's out there somewhere," came the reply.
Top headed out onto the floor. Upon rounding the corner, he stopped short, overwhelmed by the sight before him. The entire hangar was filled wall-to-wall with wounded men, more than he had ever seen in one place at the same time. While most of the men wore 501st blue, they were interspersed with the gold of the 212th, the green splash of the Mudjumpers, and somewhere among the numbers, there had to be the black and silver of the 808th.
He approached the nearest medic – a trooper he did not recognize.
"I'm Captain Top," he introduced himself. "I'm looking for any of my men who might be injured—"
Before the medic could answer, another voice called out, "Captain Top!"
Top turned to see the company commander who had led the 808th contingent sent to assist the 212th.
"Ten-oh," Top greeted him. "I'm glad you're okay. Report."
"Still getting the numbers, Captain, but as of right now, of 180 I brought with me, 18 confirmed dead, 15 injured. I imagine those numbers will go up as I go through here," Ten-oh replied.
Top nodded. "Send me updates every thirty minutes. Where are our injured? I want to go see them."
"They're spread out all over the hangar, Sir. We've got six or seven by that pillar over there, a couple near the back," came the reply.
"Good, good." Top put a hand on his shoulder. "You did a good job, Lieutenant."
"I wish we'd lost fewer men," Ten-oh sighed.
Top pat his shoulder. "Yeah . . . me, too. But that's not your fault. You led them well." With that, he turned and went to find his men.
After spending nearly an hour on the floor, going not only to his own men but also stopping to visit the wounded he knew from the 501st, he turned his attention to finding Kix. He hadn't run across him during his entire time among the wounded; but it was a large place with a lot of movement, so it was very possible he had simply missed him in passing.
He saw Corporal Scree busily scrawling something in his med pad, and he approached him.
"Scree."
Scree looked up and reacted with dull surprise. "Top. You're back."
"I've come to check on my men . . . and the 501st," Top replied.
"Well, it's damned good to see you," Scree said, sounding tired but sincere. He added with a mild grin, "Still sporting the 501st blue-do? I thought by now you'd have gone black and silver."
Top returned the smile. "It's my tribute to my first unit." A pause. "You holding up okay?"
"Yeah. We've . . . we've had a bad time, heavy losses."
"I can see that," Top replied, directing his gaze out over the room. "You're going to have your hands full for a while until they can get all these guys medevac'd."
"I've had my hands full since the moment we landed. All us medics have been overwhelmed."
Top took that as a cue to move to his next point. "I can only imagine. Speaking of medics, I'm looking for Kix. Major Hypes said he's out here somewhere."
"Ay-uh. He was out here. I haven't seen him in a while, but I've been swamped," Scree replied.
Top frowned. "I've been all over this place, and I haven't seen him."
"All I can say is keep looking," Scree said. "He's around here somewhere."
"Excuse me, Sir?"
A trooper Top did not know drew his attention. He was a 501st soldier helping the medics.
"I saw Corporal Kix escorting bodies down to the mortuary," the soldier stated. "That was hours ago. He might still be down there."
Top felt his chest tighten. If correct, this was not good news. "Where is the mortuary team set up?"
"In the next building, Sir, right through that door and straight ahead across the tarmac," came the reply.
"Thanks." Top did not wait a single second longer before heading towards the mortuary. The thoughts racing through his head threatened to push aside every other concern, including that for his own men. The very idea of Kix working in the mortuary incited dread in Top's heart, but he was determined to wait until he observed the situation and saw how Kix was faring.
He left the hangar and crossed the tarmac, bracing for something he himself hated. He'd gone into mortuary operations several times – more often since becoming a battalion first-in-command—and it was certainly one of the most miserable aspects of the war effort. It wasn't merely the row upon row of dead brothers. It was the fact that their ultimate disposition was so perfunctory – perhaps by necessity. Still, to Top, it seemed cold and very Kaminoan, despite the mort teams' best efforts to add dignity to the process, when they could.
As he entered the building, he felt his stomach twisting into knots. The smell of the incinerators was already reaching out to let him know what was going on inside this structure. He passed two men whom he recognized from his days in the 501st, both of whom stopped to greet him.
"Top! Or should I say, Captain Top, good to see you," the first said with genuine, if subdued, joy.
"Derby," Top greeted him in reply. "It's good to see you again, too. Especially after all this."
"Yeah . . . there's not too many of us left," Derby stated with an even enough tone. "You looking for Kix?"
"I was told he might be with the mortuary team," Top said.
"He's here. Just inside those doors," Derby replied, gesturing towards a set of heavy metal doors with mesh-enforced window slits. "I think he's been down here a while."
The other trooper added, "Too long."
"Thanks, you two," Top acknowledged with a nod. "Be safe. Be careful." With that, he went to the doors and peered in through the glass.
"Fek and all," he muttered under his breath, horrified by the sheer numbers of dead filling every corner of the room. On the right side of the room, he could see the identification team. These troopers had the relatively easy task of scanning for ID chips. And for those bodies that were so mangled, no chip could be found, there were two 501st battalion medics whose job it was to try and identify men by their particular physical features, for those that had bothered to differentiate themselves. A nickname could then be matched with a number, and that number zeroed out in the accountability database.
It was an unpleasant job, but certainly not the worst. Beyond the identification team, near the rear corner of the room, were the men whose job was arguably the most gruesome. These were the "salvage" teams. These troopers looked over every dead body for any equipment that might still be usable. Theirs was the cold, ghoulish and unenviable task of taking from the dead like sanctioned grave robbers. Yet, in a military of over three million men, with more being ginned out every day, it was crucial to save what equipment could be saved.
Lastly, there were the incinerator teams. Their job needed no explanation.
It did not take Top but a moment to locate Kix in the mix of blood, bodies, parts of bodies, and those tasked with their disposition. The medic was working with the salvage team, but he was being called over—quite often, it appeared—to attempt an identification on the partial remains of a 501st trooper.
Even through the glass, through the din of the reddish light on the other side of the panel, Top could see the dull expression on his squad mate's face, the dark gloss cast over his eyes, the unthinking and unfeeling robotic movements of a man who was keeping everything at bay and only going through the motions.
"No. No, this isn't—hell no." Top thought angrily, then out loud and to no one but himself, "How the fek did he end up down here? How could Jesse not know he was down here? Fek and all."
He opened the door, and as he did so, the officer overseeing the operation saw his arrival.
Captain Binga came to meet him. "Top. It's good to see you again. Well, as good as can be. You here to get numbers? Some of yours have come through. I'm sorry."
"I'll come back for the numbers before I head back to the 808th," Top replied. "I, uh, I'm actually here for Kix."
Binga glanced over to where the medic was stripping the intact armor off half a body. "I understand. I'm surprised to see him down here. This had never been his thing, but you know . . . we grave-diggers can't be choosers."
"Grave diggers . . . " Top regarded him, fully aware of the irony of the statement, in that the dignity of an actual grave was something few clones would ever receive.
"Sounds better than furnace tenders," Binga said with a carefully designed and controlled blackish humor. "Anyway, Kix is right over there."
"Binga . . . would you send him out into the hall? I don't want a scene in here, and . . . I don't know how he'll react to seeing me. I need to get him out of here, and . . . well, if I confront him in here, in front of everyone, he may decide not to go with me."
Binga grinned, doubtful and perplexed. "You think he'll go with you if you meet him outside?"
"I can force him if we're outside," Top replied. "I don't know if we're going to have an argument or not; but if we do, I don't want it in front of anyone else."
"Go on," Binga nodded. "I'll send him out."
Top stepped back out in the hallway and less than thirty seconds later, the door opened and Kix emerged.
Top didn't know what reaction he'd been expecting, but as Kix stood there staring at him without speaking, he did what came naturally to him. He stepped forward and leaned in to touch his forehead to Kix's.
But Kix drew back. "What are you doing here?"
While Kix's reaction was discouraging, Top did not allow himself to be deterred. "I came to see how my squad mates were doing." Even as he spoke, he saw the dark circles under Kix's eyes, the deep creases furrowing his brow, the expressionless mouth. He felt as if he were looking at a man dead on his feet. "Are you alright?"
Kix looked at him as if he were trying to comprehend the question. At last, he said, "I have something to tell you."
Top waited.
"Hardcase is dead."
Top nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. "I know. Jesse told me."
Kix appeared a bit put off. "You've already talked to Jesse?"
Another careful nod.
"Well, then, did he also tell you Pitch is missing?" There was something puerile and brackish in Kix's manner, his tone of voice; and Top recognized it right away as one of the signs of a thinning strand of self-control. This was Kix teetering on the edge again, and any further imbalance had to be waylaid here and now.
And yet, if Top thought what he was observing was the depths of the turmoil wreaked upon the 501st by General Krell's treachery, he was about to discover that the evil went much deeper.
"Yes, he did," Top said with gravity, but he added, "But if he's missing, there's still a chance he'll show up alive. We can't lose hope." As he said this last part, he attempted once more to comfort his squad mate, reaching out a hand to rest on Kix's shoulder.
Kix did not give any indication that he received the gesture with warmth. "One thing we know for certain is there's no hope for Hardcase." It was coldly spoken, brittle like a layer of thin ice.
Top replied in his most earnest voice. "He died a hero."
At this, Kix stepped out from under Top's hand, took a few steps, then spat angrily, "He didn't have to die at all!"
Top stood behind him. "His sacrifice saved a lot of lives and allowed us to take the capitol."
"It didn't have to be him," Kix smoldered. "It didn't have to be him at all? Why did Fives come back and he didn't?"
The question set Top back a moment. "Fives? What does he have to do with this?"
Kix now turned and faced him. He could see the complete lack of understanding in Top's face, and this was indication that his squad mate was ignorant of the full story. And Kix was going to make sure that all the details were imparted – a sort of punishment, an imposition of guilt, a backlash against the fact that, during the worst battle thus far of the war, Top had not been where he should have been – with his squad mates. "The whole thing was his idea.," Kix replied. "The whole damned thing . . . to take the fighters and try to blow up the supply ship. He just didn't want to go it alone. Jesse didn't tell you that?" Again, his voice and demeanor were filled with something childish and accusative, and this was not like Kix at all. In fact, Top felt that the man he was looking at might have Kix's appearance but had none of his quiet wisdom and firm moral grounding.
Still, Top would deal with that as its own issue. Right now, he was trying to contend with what he'd just heard regarding Fives. He was stunned and trying not to show it.
"No, he didn't. You're saying, then, that Fives proposed the idea and Hardcase volunteered?" Top wondered that Jesse would leave out the detail of Fives' involvement.
"He didn't just volunteer," Kix replied. "He was anxious to go." He paused and his gaze narrowed as he scrutinized the tightly controlled expression staring back at him. "They got up there but ran into trouble, and when it came down to actually making the sacrifice . . . it was Hardcase who did it." Another pause, but now as he prepared to speak, he felt grief bubbling up his throat and threatening to overwhelm the anger that was holding his other emotions in check. "Did Jesse also neglect to tell you that he went on the mission as well?"
It took a moment for Top to corral his wits. This news was something that clearly Jesse had omitted on purpose, and Top felt his blood starting to boil. Still, when he spoke, it was in a measured voice. "He, uh, he didn't tell me that. So, it was the three of them? Or were there more?"
"The three of them."
"And Captain Rex was okay with this? Sending up two of his senior officers and an ARC trooper on a suicide mission?"
Kix actually made a scoffing sound. "Huh! It wasn't supposed to be a suicide mission. It just turned out that way. And the captain . . . he wasn't okay with it, but he didn't try to stop them. He didn't authorize it, but he . . . everything was confusing and . . . a mess. He told them not to go, but he covered for them when they did. And . . . when Jesse and Fives came back, Krell ordered them to be court-martialed." He swallowed. "But then he changed his mind and decided they needed to be executed immediately."
Top looked perplexed. "So, what happened? Why are they both still alive then?"
It was then that Top noticed Kix was starting to tremble. It was very subtle, but to the eye of a friend, it was noticeable enough.
"Because . . . because we couldn't shoot them. We couldn't kill them," Kix stammered. "I think that's why—why the captain chose us. He knew we wouldn't do it."
Now, Top was doubting his own senses. Either his hearing or his sanity was failing. "What do you mean, 'we'?"
"I was on the firing squad."
"Fek and all, what the hell has been happening in this battalion?" Top fumed inwardly.
Kix was still speaking. "He chose me and Tup and a bunch of guys he knew would never do it, and when we fired, we all missed on purpose." He looked away in distress. "I was on a firing squad meant to kill one of my squad mates. I—I didn't know if—if—"
"You don't have to say anymore," Top interjected. "Come on, you're dead on your feet. Let's go." He began ushering him down the corridor, and he was grateful when Kix offered nothing more than token resistance.
"Where are we going? I should stay and help out—"
"We're going to my ship. It's got some jump seats in the back where you can lie down," Top replied. "You need some sleep. And the mortuary team can get along just fine without you. Fek and all, I don't even know how the hell you ended up down there."
"I volunteered," Kix replied.
"Idiot," Top said, shaking his head. "You know better."
"I was doing fine, Top," Kix countered, but Top was not having it.
"Don't give me that osik, LB," he snapped. "All I have to do is look at you."
"We all look like crap."
"I'm not going to argue with you," Top replied. "All that matters is you get some sleep. A few hours downtime will do you good."
They headed out across the tarmac. It was the first time in hours that Kix had seen the activity on the rest of the airbase. The war effort was still going on. Outside the walls of the mortuary, life was still going on – though less of it. Still, he did not feel a part of it. It went on around him but did not encompass him. He barely registered Top's voice, coming to him as if across a chasm.
"Was the attack on the supply ship before or after Pitch was declared missing?"
"After."
Both Top and Kix knew the implication of this truth. If Pitch were dead, and both Hardcase and Jesse had died in the attack, Kix would have been the sole remaining member of Saber Squad left in the 501st.
"They would have left him completely alone. Did they even give that a damned thought? For even a second? Jesse had better have a good explanation for all this hraka."
They came to Top's ship—which was actually General Shyfa's shuttle—but did not go inside. Kix stopped at the ramp.
"I shouldn't do this," he protested. "They need all hands on deck. I should go back to the med center."
"You can go back after you take a rest," Top asserted. "Just a couple hours."
"I owe it to the captain to stay out here and keep working," Kix insisted. "I've done nothing but let him down on this mission."
"Now, you're being ridiculous. You've never let anyone down, Kix," Top chastised.
"You don't know, Top," Kix pushed back. "You weren't here. You didn't see what happened to all of us . . . what happened to me." A pause. "I turned against him. I . . . publicly spoke out against him."
Top looked at him and decided to let him speak his piece. Clearly, there was something he needed to get off his chest.
Kix swallowed. "We became . . . like animals. Worse than animals, because we were killing the enemy's injured, leaving our own injured behind. And when . . . and when the captain wouldn't let me go bring in our wounded, I—I lost it. I said one of the worst things I could have said, because I wanted to—I wanted to hurt him into changing his mind." He groaned and shook his head as if in physical pain. "I told him he was like General Krell."
Top could easily comprehend that such an insult might sting for a moment, but Captain Rex was definitely not the sort of officer to take such a barb to heart nor relish it as the formation of a grudge.
"Maybe not a smart thing to say, but the captain's endured must worse," Top replied. "You're worrying too much about it. In fact, as usual, you're thinking too much about things that have already happened and can't be changed."
"Top . . . " Kix had never felt so tired, so defeated. "I don't . . . I don't want time to think about things."
"I'm pretty sure that once you lie down, you'll be out so quickly, you won't have time to think about anything," Top replied. "Now, let's go."
They went into the ship's small cargo bay where a row of jumps seats lined the port side.
"There you are. You know how to adjust them. I'll close the hatch when I leave, so no one disturbs you."
Kix could have continued to protest, but the truth was that he wanted a chance to close his eyes and leave the waking horrors of Umbara behind – even if only for an hour or two. "Where are you going?"
Top was circumspect. "I've got a few stops to make."
"You're not going to chew up Jesse and Fives, are you?"
Without looking back, Top replied, "That's on my list."
He was not joking.
"Captain Rex!"
Rex turned to see General Kenobi approaching, and he steeled himself for whatever might be coming. He did not fool himself for one second into believing that Cody had not filled the general in on the details of Krell's demise. That would certainly be something that General Kenobi would want to address.
"Yes, General?"
"I just received a long-range communication from Coruscant," Obi-wan began. "Anakin is on his way back to Umbara."
Rex was not sure how to feel or what to say. It seemed more than serendipity that the Jedi Council's need to see General Skywalker was over at the same time as the Umbaran defeat and Krell's death. For the first time, Rex reluctantly entertained the idea that there might be dirty business in the dealings of the Jedi Council – his experience with Krell had taught him that not all Jedi were to be trusted unconditionally.
But in the swirl of competing emotions, the final overriding victor was relief. Rex was glad to know his general, his Jedi, was on the way back. A Jedi he knew he could trust, who cared for him and the men of the 501st, who would hear and see what had befallen his beloved battalion and offer the courage and resolve to rebuild. General Skywalker would not permit the remains of his battalion to disintegrate under the pressures of what had transpired. He would lift up the broken pieces and re-forge them into an elite fighting unit once again.
"That's good news, Sir," Rex said evenly.
"Yes, it is," Obi-wan agreed, then he added in a grave manner, "There are things we need to discuss in the meantime." A pause. "I spoke to Cody."
Rex made no reply.
"A prisoner was executed under your watch, Captain," the general stated. "A Jedi and an officer."
"And a traitor," Rex added firmly.
"Yes . . . and a traitor," came the ready agreement. "But traitor or not, you did not have the authority to render a decision on capital punishment."
"I am . . . aware of that, Sir," Rex replied. "I didn't give my permission to anyone to execute General Krell. I was going to do it myself."
"But you couldn't," Obi-wan took up the narrative. "And so Dogma got the jump on you. Now, he's facing a murder charge, and you're the officer who let him do it. Captain, this is a serious crime."
Rex did not back down. "It's not more serious than what I saw happen to my men. We were thrown into poorly planned battles with the sole purpose of seeing us die. I can't say I'm sorry that Krell is dead. I'm not sorry that we planned to execute him. I'm only sorry things turned out the way they did."
"You didn't kill him because you knew it was wrong."
"Maybe," Rex conceded. "Krell being put to death wasn't wrong. It was just . . . the way we did it that was wrong."
"Fair enough," Obi-wan acknowledged. "But either way, there's going to be an investigation."
"As long as they don't take me off the front while they're trying to find their answers," Rex replied.
"That might be exactly what happens, Captain," Obi-wan warned him. "But you've got a lot of people on your side. And so does Dogma. I think, when the truth of the matter is made known, everything will come out alright."
Rex tightened his jaw. "With all due respect, General Kenobi, it's too late for everything to come out alright."
The general put a hand on his shoulder. "I understand your pain, Rex. You lost a lot of good men."
Rex appreciated the gesture, but it did nothing to allay the anger still boiling inside him. He could only take comfort in the fact that, even if the investigation went against him, justice had already been served.
"Fek, he's back already . . . and he's pissed."
Jesse tried not to react impetuously when Top stepped inside the small room Jesse was using as an office, closing the door behind him, and standing just inside the door with a glower on his face.
"We've got a few things to talk about, Jes." Top's voice was unreadable, but his expression was not.
Jesse knew this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
"Did you find Kix?" he asked, maintaining his calm and attempting to assert some control before the accusations could begin to fly.
"Yes, I found him," Top replied. "But he wasn't in the med center." A pause, during which Top took a few calculated steps forward. "He was down with the mortuary team, salvaging armor off of dead brothers."
Jesse had not been expecting this, and he felt some of his righteous obstinacy beginning to slip. "I didn't know he was down there."
"Really? Why should I believe you? How do I know you didn't send him down there yourself?" Top challenged.
Jesse stood up. "Because you know I wouldn't do that."
"I also know you wouldn't lie, but you did."
"What are you talking about?"
"And now you're going to make things worse by acting like you don't know what I'm talking about." Top crossed his arms over his chest. "What the hell's happened to you, Jesse? Is this really the man you've turned into?"
Jesse came around the desk where he'd been going over casualty figures, and he was not in any mood to be browbeaten. "Just get to the point, Top."
And that's precisely what Top did. "Why didn't you tell me that you went on the mission to destroy the supply ship? Why didn't you tell me that it was Fives' idea, and that he went, too? Why didn't you tell me that you and Fives were both arrested and slated for execution, and that Kix was on the firing squad?!" By the time he'd reached the last part of the question, Top's voice had increased several decibels and any attempt at controlling his ire had fallen by the wayside. He took an intimidating step towards Jesse. "Why did you stop acting like second-in-command?!"
After what he'd just been through for the past four days, this was too much for Jesse to stomach. "You're asking me why?! Why?!" He slammed his fist against the wall. "I don't owe you an answer to anything! If you'd been here, you'd know why I made the decisions I did! But you weren't here, and you have nothing to say about what happened to this battalion!"
"Oh, shut the fek up!" Top seethed. "You're not going to blame my absence for your basting mistakes! You were supposed to be the captain's right hand—"
"No! No, I wasn't!" came the emphatic denial. "Not when Fives showed up. He became second-in-command—"
"He's a corporal, for fek's sake!" Top roared. "If you let him walk all over you, it's your own fault!"
"I did what I could!" Jesse retorted. "I was here! I made the decisions I thought were best at the time! You've got some nerve coming here after the fighting is over and telling me what I did wrong!"
Top realized the conversation was turning into a confrontation, and he needed to lower the tone a notch or two. "I didn't come here to tell you what you did wrong," he stated in a much calmer voice. "I came here to check on my squad mates and my men. But then I see what's gone on here, and I—I can't believe things got this out of hand."
"You don't know the half of it," Jesse replied, his own anger suddenly giving way to a morose kind of exhaustion.
"Then tell me, Jes," Top said, almost pleading.
"You'll be furious," Jesse replied.
"Maybe, but if I hear it from you, I'll only be furious for a little while. If I hear it from someone else because you decided not to tell me . . . well, you know how I am."
Jesse nodded slowly. "Yes, I know how you are." A pause. "There's a lot to tell."
"I've got time. The General isn't expecting me back for a couple more hours," Top replied.
Jesse sat down on the desk's edge. He wasn't sure where to begin, but Top gave him a prompt. They may have been apart for months now, but Top knew whatever had gotten to Jesse had begun long before the business with General Krell.
"You said Fives became second-in-command. Did Rex make him second-in-command?"
Jesse sighed. "No, it wasn't anything official. Fives just came in and . . . he's an ARC trooper. He had all these ideas, and the men . . . they gravitated towards him because he's always so damned confident in everything he does. He's not the same man we knew when he was in the 501st. He's headstrong and . . . well, I guess I'd say he's almost too . . . independent. He was butting heads with Rex right from the beginning, but Rex kept . . . Rex listened to him anyway. I just . . . " He stood up and paced across the room. "I know it's bad for me to say this, but even though I was angry about it, I was also glad. I was ready to just let someone else take lead. And the captain didn't seem to mind."
"I doubt that very much," Top replied. "Captain Rex has always thought highly of you. He wouldn't choose Fives' counsel over yours. Why did you let Fives take your place?"
Jesse shook his head. "I don't know. I just felt like . . . there was a part of me that wanted to rebel. And so I did." He looked embarrassed and ashamed. "I questioned the captain's decisions in front of the men. More than once. I blatantly disobeyed his orders. I knew he was in a tough spot, but I couldn't understand why he was letting Krell send us into situations where we had no chance of winning. He wasn't standing up for us, so I . . . "
"You decided you weren't going to stand up for him."
"Something like that," Jesse replied morosely. "It was . . . nothing seemed real. This place did something to all of us, and when Krell came along, whatever was already bad about this place became worse. I didn't care about obeying orders anymore. My hatred for Krell was what was driving me. It wasn't that I wanted to disobey Captain Rex. I wanted to disobey General Krell."
"Is it true that it was Fives' idea to steal the ships and take out the supply ship?"
Jesse nodded. "It was his idea, and Krell shot it down. So, we decided to do it anyway."
"And the captain knew about your plans?"
"We told him," came the reply. "And we made it clear that we weren't going to let him stop us, we didn't need his permission. We were going, no matter what."
Top could hardly believe what he was hearing, but he remained even-keeled.
"Hardcase, too?"
"Hardcase was all for it. But I don't think he ever really saw it as going against the captain. For him, it was just something he wanted to do."
Top drew closer. "Did either of you stop to think what it might do to Kix if you both didn't come back? "
"I don't think it registered," Jesse said. "We just wanted to do the mission and take out the ship." He rubbed his temples with one hand. "Pitch was already missing, and we were so . . . single-minded that I don't think it ever occurred to us that Kix would be devastated. We went to tell him we were leaving, and he asked us not to go . . . we should have listened."
At that moment, the door opened and Fives entered the room.
"Jesse, we need to—Top!"
Fives was clearly surprised to see him.
"Fives." Top's acknowledgment was cool.
"I—I didn't know you were here," Fives went on. "It's good to see you."
Top gave a curt nod. "We're in the middle of something right now." His manner wasn't rude but nor was it welcoming.
Still, Fives was able to catch a certain disdainful bent in Top's address, and this rankled him no little bit. If there was one thing Fives did not appreciate, it was being made to feel as if he were being dismissed.
"I didn't mean to interrupt, but I need Jesse to help debug some of the Umbaran security systems," Fives replied, motioning to Jesse with his head, "Let's go."
Top turned to face Fives. "It can wait."
There was a strained moment when it looked as if Fives might oppose him, but then he decided better. "Okay. I'll, uh, I'll go get started on my own. I'll see you when you're done here, Jesse. I'll be in the main security facility."
"I'll be there soon," Jesse replied.
Before leaving, Fives offered a courteous, "Glad to see you again, Top."
Once Fives was gone, Top turned back to Jesse. "Whatever you lost, you'd better find it soon. To have a Corporal coming and telling you where to go and what to do—"
"It's not his fault, Top," Jesse replied. "You can't blame him—"
"I'm not blaming him. I'm blaming you." A pause. "Although I think he's not immune to an ass-chewing."
"It's not your place, Top," Jesse protested wearily.
"Somebody's got to do it. Inciting soldiers to disobey their captain? That can't go unanswered," Top persisted.
"Then let me do it."
"You had your chance. Now, it's my turn."